


Bullseye

by Impudent_Miscengenation



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Archer Merlin, Archery, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Gen, I rated this as General audiences, I suck at tagging, I try to stay in character but I don't know how well I do, SO, Secrets revealed?, bear that in mind, but there is a rabbit death, let me know if I fail at that, magic is mentioned but it's not the focus, no beta we die like men, this is very gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26218468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impudent_Miscengenation/pseuds/Impudent_Miscengenation
Summary: “You’re not born to a family of expert swordsmen, I’m afraid.” Alistair turned and helped the child load the large quiver onto his small, thin back. “But if you ever find someone better with a bow than I, why, I promise to eat my socks!”Or:The one where Huinith's father decides that Merlin needs a defensive skill set aside from being magically inclined.Or:An early morning encounter makes Arthur realize that perhaps his servant isn’t so pathetically helpless, after all.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 362





	Bullseye

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this one sitting in my docs for a while. Intended as a one shot. Might build on this in a different story if I think of one but, for now, have this.

_Bullseye_

* * *

_“Magic is outlawed, boy. You can’t rely on it all the time just because it’s there.” Alistair told his grandson as he rifled through an old chest and pulled out an even older-looking bow. Merlin, at six years of age, cocked his head to the side but was quiet as Alistair pulled an arrow-filled quiver from the chest, as well._

_“You’re not born to a family of expert swordsmen, I’m afraid.” Alistair turned and helped the child load the large quiver onto his small, thin back. “But if you ever find someone better with a bow than I, why, I promise to eat my socks!” The elderly man grinned and Merlin copied it with an amused giggle. “I’ll teach you everything I know, but I expect you to put some work into it yourself, boy. You might be a natural at magic, but archery is more than a skill.” Alistair leaned down and presented the small boy with the ornately carved bow. Merlin hesitantly took it, struggling with its weight._

_“It’s an_ art form _.”_

* * *

Arthur Pendragon bit back his scowl as much as he could while trekking through the corridors of the citadel. It was _far_ too early to be awake, yet he was nonetheless. His bumbling manservant, Merlin, had somehow forgotten to tend to the hearth last night before he’d left Arthur to sleep. The prince had cursed the idiot’s name when he woke up shivering from the cold at a ridiculous hour. With winter swiftly approaching, not even the most lavish quilts and blankets could take away the chill in his lofty chambers.

“If _I_ have to be awake at this ungodly hour, then so do _you_ , _Mer_ lin.” Arthur huffed to himself, pulling his dark red cloak tighter around him to fend off the biting cold that had settled in the early morning air. The stone walls did nearly nothing to keep out the nippy pre-freezes of the season.

Arriving in the physician’s chambers, he was informed by a bleary-eyed Gaius that Merlin was not in his room. Scowling to himself, Arthur apologized to Gaius for his intrusion and made his way down to the castle’s entrance.

When it didn’t seem as though he’d get the satisfaction of waking his lazy servant from slumber, Arthur huffed in frustration. Well, then, if Merlin wasn’t asleep, where was he? Where _would_ he be at this time? Not in the castle, surely, as Arthur would have run into him before now. So far as Arthur knew, the only place outside the castle Merlin frequented (excluding the tavern, that is) were the surrounding forests when he replenished Gaius’ herb stores. Humming in thought, Arthur decided that the forest was as good a place as any to continue his search.

All the while, Arthur debated with himself as to how he would punish his manservant for forgetting to heat his chambers. Perhaps he would have Merlin wash his socks _and_ the socks of his knights. _All_ of them, to be done before their afternoon training. A grin formed on Arthur’s face at the thought of the wrinkled nose and expression of disgust that he would surely get to enjoy later on.

* * *

_As Alistair had warned, Merlin wasn’t quite the natural with a bow and arrow as much as he was with magic, but thanks to an early start to training-courtesy of Hunith’s aging father-as well as Merlin having a particular zest to master the weapon, it became just as much a part of him as his magic was._

_As he grew, Merlin had heard stories from battle-worn warriors of how they felt their sword was connected to their soul, as if it were an extension of their very being. He’d scoffed at this, initially, but as he grew more practiced with his bow and his magic, he began to understand._

_In the stillness of early dawn, when the rest of the village would sleep, Merlin would steal away into the woods with his grandfather’s bow to practice his craft, along with his_ other _craft. It was a good cover, right? No one would suspect him of magic use, so long as the bow was secured around him and he had a quiver on his back. Merlin realized that this was likely intention on his grandfather’s part, and he was grateful for it. Though he’d hated it at first (I can protect myself with my magic_ and _be careful enough not to be caught!), Merlin had to admit that being alone with nothing but the bow and arrows to clear his mind was a welcome relief that he’d come to treasure. The thirteen year old sighed at the ambient noise of the forest around him, the birds singing softly in the trees nearby._

_It was the relatively quiet moments like this one that filled him with peace as he drew back the bowstring and levelled his gaze at the painted target on the tree._

_The bow was balanced, firm, and kept him grounded. He released his fingers and the arrow flew, sailing through the air and lodging in the center of the roughly-painted target and splintering as it did so. With a smile, Merlin’s hand raised and called the arrow back to him with magic. Out of the tree it came, and Merlin’s fingers curled around the fractured remains of the arrow shaft, the softwood abused by its previous encounters with the harsh oak trees and thick straw targets which Merlin’s arrows were frequently shot at. Merlin tightened his grip and hummed in disappointment. He was then pleased, but not surprised, when the desecrated arrow was magically repaired, as if fresh from the fletcher. Stowing the pristine arrow back into its quiver, Merlin trekked back towards Ealdor. It was close to mid-morning, if the sun’s position told him anything, and he should make himself useful before he was scolded for his aloofness. Again._

* * *

The sound of disturbed leaves caught Arthur’s attention and he looked up, locating a mop of messy black hair. His quarry found, Arthur approached and was about to call out when he noticed the stance his servant was in. Crouched, poised, and waiting. This gave Arthur pause and he quieted his steps, approaching Merlin from behind. Now with a more clear view, no trees or foliage to block his sight, Arthur noticed that Merlin held a bow in his hands. An old fashioned bow, rather than a crossbow. Arthur’s eyebrows raised. It had been quite some time that he’d seen the older weapon used; there hadn’t been any in Camelot since the invention of the crossbow. Keeping his distance, Arthur observed the unusually-still young man as his eyes focused on a point in front of him.

The bow itself looked old and worn but well cared for, as well. It was made of black walnut wood and had patterns of an ornate design carved carefully into it; the bow was beautiful, and Arthur wondered where Merlin had come across such a weapon. Arthur didn’t have more time to marvel before an arrow was nocked, the bowstring was drawn taut, and the arrow loosed to an unknown destination. Arthur found his eyebrows rising higher at the speed at which his clumsy manservant had shot the arrow. There was a soft squeak and thump that followed the arrow’s impact. Merlin stood and walked several paces ahead, much farther away than Arthur had expected him to need to go (it was _Merlin_ holding the bow, surely the target would have to be an easy one), to pick up a dead hare. The arrow had pierced its chest straight through the heart-a clean kill. Pulling out the bloodied arrow, Merlin wiped it on his pant-leg before depositing it into the quiver he had strapped to his back. The rabbit was tucked away into a large brown sack that Merlin had on his hip. Based on the blood that stained the canvas, a single hare wasn’t the only thing he managed to bag. Arthur grinned and came out into the open, calling out to Merlin.

“I thought you said you _hated_ hunting!” It was worth the wait to see his servant jump, squeak in surprise, and fumble with his bag of game. Merlin whipped around and sighed in relief when he realized the source of the voice.

“I said I hate going hunting with _you_ , prat. You and the knights hunt for _glory_ , not supper.” Merlin explained, settling the bow around his form and making his way to the prince’s side.

“I mean, really, what’s the point of going out, searching for and killing a gorgon, when there’s no value in the meat? Gorgon wasn’t hurting anything, being so far away from civilization…” He grumbled and was promptly smacked on his head by the crown prince.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For not lighting the hearth in my chambers last night, you twit. Why else would I be awake and out of my bed at this time?” The insult was half-hearted, as Arthur found himself more interested in the bow that his servant carried. “Now, I _know_ you’re useless with a sword; I didn’t know you knew how to use a bow.” Merlin grinned sheepishly and adjusted the bow on his chest.

“Ah, that… My grandfather taught me; this is his bow.” Arthur hummed as the two made their way back into the city.

“It would have been good to know beforehand that you’re not _completely_ helpless.” Arthur insulted playfully and Merlin scoffed.

“If you’d ever _asked_ if I could use a bow, instead of just slapping a sword in my hand and expecting me to use it, maybe you _would_ have.” Arthur realized that, in fact, he _hadn’t_ thought to ask if Merlin preferred the bow over the sword. Not wanting to admit his mistake, Arthur waved a hand dismissively.

“Well, it’s not as though you can handle the raw power that comes with a sword, anyway, now that I think of it.” Merlin sniffed.

“Right, like it’s so hard to figure out how to use a sword.”

“And what would _you_ know about sword-fighting, _Merlin_?” The warlock shrugged.

“Make sure you don’t get stuck with the sharp end?” Arthur rolled his eyes as they approached the castle.

Merlin was confused when Arthur led him, not back to the prince's chambers, but to the training grounds. Even more so when Arthur leaned back against a post and gestured at him.

“Go on, then.” At Merlin’s puzzled expression, Arthur sighed. “Take out your bow and show me what you’ve got. Hit the targets, there.” Arthur gestured a distance behind and to the left of them, where several small targets at differing heights were poised for archery practice. Raising an eyebrow, Merlin took the bow off his person and readied an arrow from his quiver. He looked back at Arthur in uncertainty but the prince waved an encouraging hand.

“Go _on_.” Arthur repeated and his manservant turned back to the targets. Arthur expected him to move closer, to have a better view, but Merlin simply faced the targets from where he stood and drew back his bowstring. There was little hesitation before the arrow was loosed directly into the center of the nearest target. Arthur’s brows shot up in surprise.

“Bullseye. Will the wonders never cease? Perhaps you _did_ light a fire last night, for this _has_ to be a dream.” Merlin only rolled his eyes and went to put his bow away until Arthur held up his hand.

“Go again. Keep on, until I tell you to stop. Feel free to impress me, _Mer_ lin.” The prince keened, grinning widely at the younger of the two, whose cheeks were pinking. The ravenet paused and shifted his weight, debating something in his head for a moment before taking a deep breath and readying his stance again. He pulled three arrows from his quiver and settled them into his bow. He didn’t think about Arthur behind him, and cut off his peripheral vision to focus on his task.

Merlin raised his arm and moved all of his fingers along the bowstring to guide the release of all three arrows on the same draw. While it felt slow to Merlin, he was aware that his upswing, draw, and release were done fluidly. There was no other way to loose more than one arrow at a time-you couldn’t hesitate lest you lose momentum. If momentum was lost, the arrows wouldn’t strike true. Each arrow landed soundly into three different targets, close to the central circle in every case. Arthur released a low whistle.

“Well, I suppose the old fashioned bows _are_ advantageous, in their ways. So long as it’s used well enough.” Arthur grinned in his servant’s direction and Merlin shifted his weight again, unused to the attention ( _positive_ attention-and from Arthur, no less!). The prince pushed himself off of the post and gestured for Merlin to retrieve his arrows.

“Meet me in my rooms with breakfast, Merlin. We have a few things to talk about.” There was a mischievous glint in Arthur’s eye and Merlin decided that he, perhaps, had chosen the wrong morning to bag game.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Kudos and comments are welcomed and appreciated!


End file.
